


it started out with a trip, how did it end up like this (it was only a trip, it was only a trip)

by elksbian



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, High School Teacher AU, i've had people ask if one is a student and... no, so!, yes they are BOTH teachers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 20:53:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8768869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elksbian/pseuds/elksbian
Summary: it’s not that emma and regina hate each other, it’s just that they get off on the wrong foot. literally. because emma trips and spills her coffee on regina.and that’s just the first trope.snippets of a high school teacher au consisting of one big closet metaphor, a saxophone named jeremy, and emma’s inability to not fall in love with the mills family.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jajs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jajs/gifts).



> first off, i'd like to thank Jajs for willing to make artwork for my writing! everything has gone incredibly smoothly except my hectic life.
> 
> now this is actually, like, double what i'm used to writing, so having a work this long and actually ending it felt like i was sending a kid away to college. goodbye, weird fic i named after mr. brightside. please don't make the professors too angry with your pop punk music and liberal tendencies. 
> 
> ... anyway, please enjoy!

**i.**

 

When Emma was told Storybrooke High was a small school, she didn’t realize exactly  _ how  _ small. She grew up and then taught in the city for several years, packed in public schools with little funding and group homes with even less, and she’s used to a busy, crowded life.

 

Maybe that’s why she wanted a change.

 

Emma arrives to Storybrooke, Maine, three weeks before the school year starts. The school doesn’t open for teachers for another week, but that gives her enough time to unpack and go grocery shopping and figure out the shower handles.

 

When she goes shopping, she meets Mary Margaret Blanchard (a mouthful, honestly, and Emma hopes the rest of the town doesn’t have names like this), an elementary school teacher. She’s extremely chipper, and it takes Emma a few minutes to realize it’s not fake. She learns that Mary Margaret lives is her neighbor, living two doors down from her apartment.

 

“If you ever need help,” she says, “here’s my number! Or you can always just knock on my door!” The woman takes a bright pen and notepad out of her large purse and writes something down. She gives it to Emma, and Emma looks down at it.

 

When she looks up, Mary Margaret Blanchard is gone.

 

She finishes her shopping, and odd sensation running through her body like adrenaline, like something’s about to happen. Nothing does. She returns home, several plastic bags in hand, no knife sticking out of any part of her body.

 

_ Weird, _ she thinks as the previous thought runs across her mind. She hadn’t originally felt the odd sensation as a negative one.

 

**ii.**

 

Regina sits in her living room, snuggling up on her couch, a fluffy blanket around her form and a glass of expensive red wine in her hand. She’s usually adamant about eating or drinking on the couch, but she knows she won’t spill. Her mind is too busy to really think about house rules.

 

Henry learned he was adopted almost three weeks ago, and their relationship has only become more strained. Even though it’s summer vacation, she never sees her son. Henry’s usually out with friends or in his room, reading and ignoring her.

 

Regina hasn’t grounded Henry since he was in elementary school, and he’s fourteen now, about to become a freshman in high school. It’s not she’d ground him, anyway; he’s angry at her for the right reasons. She had been fixing to tell him when he was sixteen, sit him down and remind him that she’s his mother and she  _ loves  _ him and she  _ chose  _ him.

 

She hadn’t wanted to tell him when he was young, scared that he’d yell and argue and slam doors and say she’s not his mother. At the moment, though, she wishes she had. Maybe sixteen was too late. Right  _ now  _ was too late. What had she been thinking? That the first fourteen years of her son’s life had been perfect, had been  _ happy _ , and she could just forget to tell him he wasn’t truly hers?

 

He is. He  _ is  _ truly hers. She fought for him, fought for the right to raise a child when her own mother was fighting her every step of the way.

 

(“I thought you said you were a  _ lesbian _ , honey,” her mother had said, her lips tight and her one track mind impossibly tighter. “Lesbians don’t want children. Especially single ones.”)

 

She knows she only got to raise Henry because the enemy of your enemy is your friend, and her mother’s competition judge Rupert Gold was only  _ too  _ glad to help her. She knows her case won because Gold appointed himself onto Regina’s case, and he was the one to pass it.

 

Does it matter, though, when she’s an idiot and decided to wait  _ fourteen years _ to tell her son how hard it was to get to cradle him in her arms? That the second she did, she was filled with so much love it made up for the lack of it she had received her entire life beforehand?

 

She prefers slammed doors over silence.

 

And silence is what Henry has been giving her.

 

She sighs, stopping her mulling and putting her wine glass on its assigned coaster. The school year is about to start. She’s been promoted to AP Language, a class taken by juniors who usually care about their future, now that the old one has retired. She gets up, the air hitting her bare legs in their pajama shorts like a slap, and she pads across the tile to her home office. 

 

She has a lot of planning to do.

 

**iii.**

 

A few days before the school opens for staff, Emma is sitting on her living room floor, the parts for a coffee table strewn all around her. When the salesman giving her her furniture had asked if she needed help putting things together, Emma had said no, not wanting the extra cost. The mandatory loading into her apartment would be fine, thank you very much. With only a screwdriver and the stubbornness of a bull, it takes her about two hours and several mistakes to put the table together. Looking up at the clock, she realizes it’s almost six in the evening.

 

Regret is rumbling, low in her stomach. That, or she’s hungry.

 

Sick of eating peanut butter sandwiches before her first paycheck comes in, Emma decides to eat out. She doesn’t know the town much, though, but by the looks of it, she’s sure she can walk around town to find something and not have to worry about being mugged.

 

Strolling the sidewalks for half an hour leads her to a diner, Granny’s, that seems to be the main place for business. The small amount of parking spaces it has available are filled, and when she walks in, she gets the feeling of a warm, family friendly environment.

 

She sits at one of the cherry red barstools installed in front of the counter. She sees Mary Margaret Blanchard sitting in one of the booths, and she waves at Emma. Emma gives a short wave back, and sees a scantily clad waitress behind the counter excitedly walk up to her.

 

“Hello!” she greets. “What would you like? Are you new in town? What will you be doing here?”

 

“Uh,” is Emma’s answer, surprised at the amount of questions.

 

The waitress realizes her brashness and blushes. “Sorry about that. It’s a small town, we don’t get visitors a lot, and I forget that not everyone is as bored around here as I am. I’m Ruby. How about we just start off with your order?”

 

Emma makes a noise that’s halfway between a laugh and an exhale of relief. “It’s fine. Do you have a cheeseburger and fries combo? And just a water with that.”

 

“We sure do! Let me tell the kitchen. That meal is going to be 4.15, and you’ll pay when you’re done.” Ruby disappears, and it seems as if Emma barely has time to take a breath before she’s back.

 

Ruby places her elbows on the countertop and leans forward, her red highlights hitting the fluorescent lights. “So, would you  _ mind  _ telling me where you’re from and what you’ll be doing? It’s okay if you don’t, just,” she shrugs, “like I said, it’s  _ pretty  _ boring around here.”

 

Emma thinks about her answer for a minute. “Well, I grew up and Boston, and worked at a private daycare for a few years.” Ruby’s eyes light up at the mention of a big city. “But my degree can let me teach up to twelfth grade, and that’s what I wanted to do. I’m here to teach high school biology.”

 

“Oh! You’re the new teacher!” Ruby sits up and puts her hands on her hips. When Emma gives her a momentarily confused look, she answers with a, “I’m also the secretary at the secondary school. I only work here because this diner is a family business; my grandmother owns it. I work at the school for fun.”

 

“For fun?” Emma asks.

 

“Oh yeah,” says Ruby. “I thrive on gossip and drama, and you’d  _ never  _ believe how alike high school kids and high school  _ teachers  _ are.” A pager on her hip buzzes, and Ruby looks down, pressing a button on it. “Looks like your food’s ready. I’ll go get it.”

 

Emma eats her food in silence, as when Ruby tries to initiate conversation, an older woman comes out and complains at her (Granny, Emma assumes) and orders Ruby to do her job.

 

It’s good, especially for the fast food pricing. Perks of a small business in a small town, she figures. When she’s done, she sees that Ruby is running around, as the dinner rush started. Emma gets ten dollars out of her pocket and places it next to her empty plate. She takes a stray pen that’s lying a few feet from her on the counter and writes “keep the change” on a napkin.

 

When she leaves, the diner’s bell signaling her exit, she realizes that she’s starting to really like this small, sleepy town. That, and she’ll definitely be coming to this diner more often.

  
  


Henry enters Granny’s first, Regina following behind him. She’s thankful that out of everything that’s happened, Henry hasn’t asked to cancel friday nights at Granny’s. The meals may be close to silent, but she’d rather have that than nothing at all.

 

Instead of going to the back booth on the left like Henry usually does, he sits on one of the barstools where Ruby is putting money into the old fashioned cash register. Henry turns and looks at his mother, giving her a look that says  _ Tell me to do something other than what I want. I dare you. _

 

Regina complies, but makes sure he doesn’t think he has the upper hand, softly saying, “If you had asked, I’d have let you,” as she sat down.

 

Ruby sees them and greets them with, “Hey, Mills family!” She sounds cheery, like she either doesn’t know that Henry and Regina are barely talking (unlikely), or she does know and she’s failing to make their situation better (likely).

 

“Hello, Miss Lucas,” Regina says. “Can I have a grilled chicken sandwich with a side salad and a water?”

 

“I want a cheeseburger, fries, and a milkshake,” says Henry.

 

“No milkshake, Henry.” Henry glares at Regina. “Don’t think I didn’t see you have a slice of chocolate cake this afternoon. You’ve had enough dessert for today.”

 

Henry sighs. “A coke, then.”

 

“Okay! That’ll be 9.62.” Ruby, who has been taking that same order for several years now, doesn’t even need to look at the receipt that comes out of the register as she rips it off and hands it to Regina. Regina nods, taking her credit card from her purse and handing it to Ruby. Ruby, learning long ago that Regina did things her own way and preferred paying before she got her meal, takes it and swipes it. She hands Regina the card back, who then tucks it into her purse and leans down to put her purse on the ground right next to her stool. As Ruby walks out from behind the counter, she ruffles Henry’s hair before walking away to talk to a group of people that had just taken their seats.

 

Regina’s can feel her blood begin to boil as Henry allows the touch Ruby gives him. She knows Henry would only swat her hand away if she tried to do the same, and she also knows that he’s had a slight crush on the waitress since he started 8th grade and Ruby likes to take advantage of it,  _ and _ \--

 

She’s mad at the situation. And, most of all, herself.

 

“How was your day, Henry?” she asks, hoping he’ll pick up the conversation starter.

 

“Fine.” Henry drops it. He looks the other way, putting his elbow on the counter and leaning his chin against his open palm.

 

Regina feels like sighing and putting her head in her arms, but years of instilled manners from her mother has her refraining from it. Instead, she places her hands in her lap, staring at the wrinkles created from the bends of her fingers like they mean something and wishing Henry would take the rope she’s been trying to throw in his direction.

 

She doesn’t have much time to mull over her thoughts before the food comes, and her hands can be kept busy again. She and Henry both dig in, him a little more exuberantly than her, and Regina just finishes her meal and starts to turn around before getting up when something hot and wet is splashing across the front of her. She squeals in surprise (embarrassing, high pitched and loud, the whole nine yards), and she tightens her shoulders in pain before whipping around and seeing who the culprit is.

 

It’s someone she doesn’t know, sprawled on the floor, Regina’s purse handles hanging around her ankle. An empty cup of coffee slightly rolls on its side several inches from her outstretched hand.

 

The stranger gets up, groaning, taking Regina’s purse from her ankle and simultaneously holding the now crushed cup while cradling a head of blonde curls with her other hand. She looks up and her eyebrows quickly shoot to her forehead when she sees Regina sitting before her, fuming and coffee running down her white button up.

 

The woman runs up to her, setting the things in her hands on the counter. “Oh, gosh, lady, I’m so sorry--” she starts, frazzled, before Regina interrupts her, practically hissing. She stands up to meet the woman eye to eye.

 

“How do you even trip on something that’s several feet from you? Stick your leg out and fall?”

 

The blonde’s shoulders slump. “I didn’t mean to,” she says, before straightening her posture up. “Look, I can pay for your dry cleaning--”

 

“You  _ will  _ pay for my dry cleaning.”

 

“--What cup size are you?”

 

Regina hears Henry snicker in the background. “ _ Excuse  _ me?”

 

“I meant, in case you wanted to, you know, borrow one of mine? I guess? I’m sorry, oh  _ god _ , I say the first thing that pops into my head--”

 

“And my bra was the first thing that ‘popped into your head’?”

 

“I’m not really thinking--”

 

“I can tell.”

 

“I’m just gonna…” The blonde wriggles off the bright red leather jacket she has on, leaving her in one a white tee. “You can wear this until you change into something better.” She comes closer to put it across Regina’s shoulders, and pauses when she expects Regina to put her arms through it. When she doesn’t, she pats Regina’s shoulders awkwardly. “I don’t really have anything to write on to give you my phone number, but, um, if you want, I live in the apartment building on Nightjar Lane, just ask for Emma Swan…”

 

Regina stares at her, dark eyebrows scrunched together in nine parts anger, one part confusion.

 

“I’ll just go before this gets any more awkward than it already is.” The woman shoots her finger guns. “You, uh, know where to get me!”

 

Regina glares at the door until she feels someone touch her now leather clad shoulder. Turning around, she sees it’s her son.

 

“If you glare at that door any longer, it’s gonna catch fire,” he says, a lopsided grin. 

 

And even though the last five minutes of her life have been purely embarrassing to be a part of, at least Henry’s smiling at her.

 

“Man,” Ruby says, popping up behind the counter, “She’s sure a sight for sore eyes. Those arms? Totally ripped. You think?”

 

“She spilled coffee on me,” deadpans Regina. She thinks of the woman taking off her jacket, and realizes that Ruby was right. She did have nice arms. A hot feeling, not unlike the coffee several minutes ago, runs through her spine.

 

Regina decides it’s anger.

 

“I’d let her spill coffee on me  _ any  _ day,” Ruby sighs, before flipping her hair and sauntering back into the kitchen.

 

“Come on, Mom,” says Henry. “We need to get home so you can change.”

 

Regina grabs her purse, placing the cup beside it on her finished plate.

 

“Let’s go home, then,” she says.

 

**v.**

 

Emma is given a set of keys when she shows up in the office the first day teachers are allowed to come in. She’s been assigned to room 110.

 

“Don’t the science classrooms start with 200?” Emma asks, turning around and looking at the secretary.

 

“Ah, yeah, about that…” The secretary, Ruby, she remembers, bashfully grins. “We’ve gotten more students than usual in the past few years, and haven’t had enough time to make space for new classrooms. You’re going to be in the English hallway. Just take a right and walk a little bit.”

 

Emma’s shoulders slump. Out of all the subjects to be next to, English is almost the exact  _ opposite  _ as biology. Ruby looks at her sympathetically. Emma sighs. “I guess it could be worse.”

 

“Have a good year!” Ruby says as Emma turns around, and Emma gives her a thumb up in response, swinging the door to the office open and strolling out. She takes a right as instructed, the closest class to her labelled ‘122’.

 

When she gets to her classroom (her classroom! The thought makes Emma tingle with excitement), she sees that the room to the right of hers, 108, has the light on. The door is shut, though, so Emma doesn’t invite herself in. She unlocks room 110 and looks around.

 

It’s a pretty bare room, save for a bookshelf, about 25 student desks, and a desk for herself. Emma threads her fingers through her curls, knowing she’s going to have to somehow take out the desks and replace them with larger group tables. There’s no way biology labs can be done on individual desks. There’s no sinks in the classroom, either, so any experiments done will have to either be at home or done herself in front of the class. She groans. Of course, this classroom was meant to be for English, but she’s not going to get into that. This is what she’s been given; nothing will change that.

 

The room is spacious, and although carpeted, she’s sure replacing the thirty individual student desks with long and black group tables will give the room more of a bioscience feel. The room, obviously, has no sinks or shower needed to legally complete labs in a classroom and Emma momentarily gives into her frustration and pinches the bridge of her nose. Maybe a few of the other science teachers will allow her to borrow their classrooms on days she wants to do labs. She could always find some labs to do outside, too, and give her kids some fresh air.

 

That, or she’ll have to give them as homework, and she’s not stupid enough to think her kids won’t complain about it and then find something on the internet to copy off of.

 

There’s a storage closet to her right. Emma gives a sigh of relief. The small amount of cabinets she has will barely fit a fire blanket and tissue boxes. She needs a place to store all the equipment used in her class-- it’s not like she can keep a dozen microscopes in her car. She opens the door, and finds that it’s long and narrow, another door at the end of it. The other door is open, and leads into another classroom. The lighted one she saw earlier, she realizes.

 

There’s a woman on the other end of the door, she sees, carrying a box of textbooks. She’s obviously surprised to see Emma as Emma is to see her.

 

And Emma recognizes her as the woman she spilled coffee on three days ago.

 

“Yes?” the woman says, glaring at her, her shirt stain free. “What do you need?”

 

“I, uh.” Thoughts race in and out of Emma’s head before she has a chance to speak them. “My classroom.”

 

“No, that’s a closet.”

 

“I mean,” Emma jerks a thumb back to her classroom. “That’s my classroom.”

 

“Well, with the skills you’ve just previously shown me, I’m scared to see you as an English teacher.” The brunette places the box she had been carrying on her desk, making her closer to Emma, still standing in the closet.

 

“I’m not an English teacher. I teach biology. But this was one of the only classes left available.”

 

“That’s ridiculous,” the woman huffs, trying to open the box with a pair of scissors, and doing terribly.

 

“Here,” Emma says, walking from the closet to her new coworker’s desk, and opens her hand out in an offering. The other woman looks at her, angrily, it seems, before handing Emma the scissors. Emma takes them, cutting into the box and opening it easily. When she’s done, she looks at the woman standing before her.

 

“You know,” Emma says, gesturing with the pair of scissors. “I never got your name the other day.”

 

“Because you spilled coffee on me before proceeding to ask me my bra size,” the brunette says, her voice stony. “And I don’t want to tell you when you’re pointing those at me.”

 

Emma makes a big motion of setting the scissors down on the desk.

 

“Regina Mills,” she says.

 

Emma holds out her hand. “Emma Swan. And I’m sorry about that. I have the habit of getting nervous when I’m an inconvenience.”

 

Regina shakes Emma’s hand. Her grip is considerably strong, Emma thinks, even though she can’t be more than 5’3 and looks about to be 120 pounds wet. “I know. You told me when before you left the diner.”

 

“Again,” Emma says, taking her hand away from Regina and putting it in her pocket shyly. “I am  _ so  _ sorry about that. And the comments that happened afterwards. Why did you never come to ask for dry cleaning, by the way?”

 

“I’ve already had them cleaned,” says Regina. “They should be back tomorrow, actually.”

 

“Really?” Emma asks. “I have some cash I can give to you, it’s back in my classroom--”

 

“Don’t.” Regina puts her hand on Emma’s shoulder, stopping her from walking away. “I said that out of anger, to be quite honest. I don’t need you to pay for my clothes to be washed. It was my purse you tripped on.”

 

“Okay, thank god, I don’t have a lot considering I haven’t gotten any paychecks yet,” Emma says, her shoulders relaxing in relief. “Also, do you happen to know any science teachers that are really nice? Because I’m in a classroom that isn’t made to be a science classroom, I have, like,  _ no  _ equipment in there to where I could hold labs. The school’s supposed to give me microscopes and whatnot in about a week or so, but I don’t have anything installed that I’m supposed to.”

 

“Archibald Hopper is the chemistry teacher,” Regina replies. “I’m sure he’ll let you borrow his classroom every once in awhile.”

 

“Oh, wow, Regina, thank you so much!” says Emma. “What room is he in?”

 

“224, I think.”

 

“I’m gonna go ask him. Thank you again for telling me, and, uh, also not getting too mad at me for a few days ago.” Emma starts to head to the storage closet and back to her own room. She turns around and says. “I can tell this is going to be a beautiful friendship.”

 

**vi.**

 

It isn’t.

 

When Emma has her microscopes arrive, she breathes a sigh of relief. She also plans to store them in the storage closet, because they’re clunky and she doesn’t trust them to stay in mint condition if in a cabinet.

 

This was proved to be  _ illogical _ when Emma pushes her shelved dolly cart full of said expensive microscopes, unlocked and opened the closet, to see English textbooks and English folders and English binders taking up way more space than they should be.

 

They weren’t even stacks up all the way; they were just spread out! Emma rolls her eyes and checks the other end of the closet. The door is closed, and she can tell the lights in Regina Mills’s classroom isn’t on.

 

_ Looks like I’ll have to do this herself. _

 

Several organized shelves later, she looks at her handiwork proudly and starts to set her microscopes on her half of the closet. She’s sure Regina won’t mind her moving the binders; they were taking up more than half the space, and honestly, what was she supposed to do? School started in four days. Emma didn’t have time to wait around.

 

When Emma comes back from her lunch break (at Granny’s), she flicks on the light to see her eight microscopes packed onto her desk like cargo.

 

Cargo that didn’t cost twenty thousand dollars, that’s for sure.

 

She doesn’t even enter through the closet. No, this lady gets the whole front door treatment. Emma enters through the front door, her head fuming.

 

“You moved my microscopes.” It’s not a question.

 

She sees Regina Mills, typing on her school-issued computer (Emma got hers yesterday. It’s a dinosaur, if she were to be honest). “I did. You moved my things without asking.”

 

Emma’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah, but your binders don’t cost over twenty grand put together, okay?”

 

“I’ve had my binders for almost eight years, now. I keep them organized so they don’t tear.” Regina doesn’t look up from typing.

 

“Are you at least gonna look at me when you speak?” Emma asks. Regina gives her a show of stopping her typing and looking at Emma, pointedly.

 

“Fine,” grumbles Emma. “Be that way.” She shuts the door.

 

**vii.**

 

Henry arrives home from the first day of school about an hour and a half after Regina does. He had asked if he could hang out with some friends that had just gotten back from vacation down at a popular ice cream shop that high schoolers liked to hang out at, and Regina had allowed him.

 

“How was your first day?” Regina asks, continuing to clean the kitchen like she had been before.

 

“It was nice.” Henry grabs a glass from one of the cabinets and pours himself a glass of water. “I like my biology teacher.”

 

Regina pauses from her scrubbing. “Miss Swan?”

 

“Yeah, I thought it was pretty weird when I picked up my schedule and saw that her class was right next to yours.”

 

“You’re not the only one,” Regina mutters, and begins scrubbing again, harder.

 

Henry looks at her oddly as he holds his glass of water. “You okay?”

 

“I’m fine,” says Regina, but her tone tells a different story. “Miss Swan is incompetent, she breaks things, she has the vocabulary of a sugar high eight year old, and now you  _ like  _ her--”

 

“Mom.” Henry sets down his glass. “She’s not… she’s not going to  _ replace  _ you.”

 

Regina breaks down, her elbows the only thing supporting her as she puts her entire body weight into leaning on the counter. Tears run down her face, and she feels Henry’s arms wrap around her in a hug. She wipes at her eyes, only to cry harder, and she hisses in surprise.  _ Shit _ .

 

“Mom!” Henry says, worry lacing his voice.

 

“I’m fine, Henry, I just have soap in my eyes.” The back of Regina’s throat is heavy and feels as if it’s starting to bubble. She presses the flats of her palms against her eyes and pushes, hoping to alleviate the pain.

 

A few seconds pass before she feels cold cloth touch the back of her hand and run icily up her arm. “Thank you, Henry,” she says, dabbing softly as her closed eyes. When she feels she’s ready, she opens them, wiping the edges of her eyelids. Before she forgets, she uses the rest of the moisture in the cloth to wipe her hands and get any soapy residue off of them.

 

“No one could ever replace you, Mom.” Henry’s voice is soft, like a baby blanket fresh out of the dryer, and Regina opens her arms to him. He hugs her, squeezing her tightly, and she has to stand on her toes to tuck his head under her chin.

 

“ _ Dios mío, mi corazón _ ,” Regina sighs into Henry’s hair. A few tears start to peer out of the corner of her eyes, and she begins to cry again. “I have to stand on my tiptoes just to hug you.”

 

“I could crouch if that’s what you want,” Henry supplies, and Regina cries harder.

 

“I love you, Henry,” whispers Regina, rocking Henry as she holds him. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

 

“I love you too, Mom.” Henry takes his head out from under his mother’s chin and looks up at her. “I’m just…  _ angry _ .” 

 

“I know,” Regina says. “You have the right to be. I was just so  _ scared _ . Scared you wouldn’t think you were mine.”

 

“Like I could be someone else’s?” Henry asks, and Regina holds him tighter.

 

For once, it seems like it’s going to be okay.

 

**viii.**

 

Emma has had a shitty day.

 

First, because her alarm never went off, she came into school three minutes before the tardy bell for second hour rang, so she had to wade through a sea of students to unlock her door.

 

She goes into her classroom, and is fifteen minutes into second period when she realizes she can’t find any of her dry erase markers. She almost screams.

 

During lunch, the vending machine doesn’t give her the drink she asked for.

 

In her fifth hour, a kid literally  _ projectile vomits _ . The whole nine yards. Emma’s only lucky it didn’t hit her, but she ended up having her last two hours outside due to the smell. And while she was prepared to do outside activities, her kids were working on a packet she had given them at the beginning of the week, and outside really wasn’t the area to do it.

 

Everything seems to become a million times worse when Regina berates her for said smell of vomit in her classroom.

 

“Our vents are connected,” Regina says. “How am I supposed to keep my students engaged in Hamlet if it smells like someone died?”

 

“It’s not like  _ I  _ was the one who vomited,” Emma sighs. “Why do you blame me for things out of my control?”

 

“Because I can,” says Regina, and that’s that.

 

Emma mocks that voice in the mirror of the girl’s bathroom at five in the afternoon, after everyone’s gone, and after she’s done grading, and then decides to put magnetic locks on Regina’s cabinet door as payback.

 

And when Regina storms into her classroom the next day, Emma relishes in turning around her cheap office chair to say in a booming voice, “I’ve been expecting you.”

 

(Okay, so the first time, it was Archie, and the second time, it was the freshman who had vomited the day before. But third time’s the charm, right?)

\------

The school year is halfway into September and Henry is already tired of being in high school.

 

Not because of the common reasons, though. 

 

Because his mom and his biology teacher are  _ insane _ . 

 

His mom gets sick about halfway through the month. She’s  _ never  _ sick, which worries Henry, but he knows it’s just a simple stomach bug. He knows that if he hasn’t talked his mom out of it, she would’ve gone to work.

 

“You’ll make the students sick,” he had said, and she had relented.

 

“Make sure Emma feeds Crosby on her lunch break,” she says, and then promptly falls back to sleep, snoring. Henry thinks it’s cute.

 

Crosby is the goldfish Henry won in seventh grade for a raffle. Not having a space for him in the house, his mom had allowed Henry to keep him in her classroom as long as she fed him. But with Ms. Swan’s class second period, Henry’s on the other side of the building the rest of the day and then has band practice every afternoon. His mom said that she could do it since he couldn’t be able to.

 

And now that she’s sick for the day, the job had been passed along to Emma.

 

Henry gets released from his first hour (band) early due to lightning spotted about a mile away. He sneaks to the biology room, where he knows Ms. Swan doesn’t have a first hour.

 

“Ms. Swan?” Henry asks. “My mom wanted to ask you to do something during your lunch break.”

 

“As much as she’d enjoy it,” Emma says, “I cannot strike fear into the heart of thirty juniors for homework lunch. I just don’t have the guts. In fact, some of them scare  _ me _ .”

 

Henry rolls his eyes. “Not that. Just feed the goldfish.”

 

“Goldfish?” Emma repeats. Henry hears the dismissal bell in the background.

 

“Here, let me show you.” Henry walks through the storage space the teachers share to walk into his mother’s classroom. There’s only a few stragglers left, as most kids are quick to get out of any class, and Ruby is sitting at the desk, balancing a pencil on her finger.

 

“Ruby?” Emma says.

 

“Hey!” greets Ruby. “I’m just subbing for your mom this hour, because no one was available. I think it’s about my time to exit.”

 

Giving a peace sign, she walks out the door.

 

“Over here!” Henry nods his head in the direction of the tank.

 

“That’s a big goldfish,” Emma comments.

 

“Goldfish grow with their environment,” Henry says, and when Emma raises an eyebrow, he laughs. “Yeah, you probably know that already. Anyway, the food’s back in this cabinet somewhere…”

 

The cabinet is what’s above the tank, and though Henry is tall for his age, he still has to stand on his toes and feel around. He really doesn’t want to know how his mom is able to get to it.

 

When he accidentally hits the container of fish food too harshly when he finds it, he can only watch as the entire box falls into the tank. It only gets worse when the lid pops off upon impact and millions of tiny fish food flakes start to take ahold of the tank.

 

“Uh,” is all Henry’s able to say.

 

Emma stares at the tank blankly, before sighing and rolling up her sleeves. She dips her arms into the tank and picks up the lid and container, but not before reassuring Henry with a, “Don’t worry, it’s a lab day, and on lab day I wash my hands up to the elbow before and after class begins. No human germs will infect him.”

 

Henry nods, and Emma walks incredibly to the trash can to dump the wet cardboard into it. When she starts wiping her wet hands on her jeans, Henry coughs.

 

“What?” Emma asks. “I was going to wash them again, anyway. Don’t judge me. Come on, before more kids start coming in.” The whole ordeal had taken up about a minute, which meant some kids were starting to enter the classroom. “This is between you and me.”

 

Henry follows Ms. Swan out of his mother’s classroom and into what he was hoping would be an enjoyable lab day.

  
  


That afternoon, band practice is cancelled last minute due to heavy rain and lightning. Henry, not being prepared for that, had left his saxophone in the band locker room. He groans, because he needs to practice his piece after getting second chair (freshman year! Mom had made lemon tarts, his favorite, as a celebration) because there are way too many fortissimos than should be considered fair. He has small baby lungs compared to the upperclassmen. He’s dying, it feels like.

 

The band practice room is in the arts building, which requires going in the terrible weather. Henry sighs, embracing himself. At least his instrument will be in his case, he thinks. He’d cry if Jeremy (the saxophone) got wet.

 

Four and a half minutes later, Henry clutches Jeremy in his hand, ready to face the storm again to get to the bus loop. Mom has insisted on picking him up, but Henry disagreed, arguing she needed rest.

 

When he gets to the bus stop, the bus is gone. Henry screams in frustration. He angrily storms back into the school building, if only to get away from the nasty weather. There, soaking wet, he sees Ms. Swan, locking her door and looking at him oddly.

 

“You okay, kid?” she asks.

 

“I missed the bus,” Henry sighs. “Usually I don’t need to ride it because Mom is here, but she’s sick and the weather would only make her worse if she tries and picks me up. And I’d walk, but, again… the weather.”

 

“Where do you live?” the biology teacher asks. “I could take you home.”

 

“Really?”

 

Ms. Swan nods, laughing. “Of course. Luckily for us, I parked in the front today."

 

Henry is surprised to see that Ms. Swan drives an old, beat up yellow bug, but decides it’s better not to bite the hand that feeds him. The car takes a bit to warm up, especially compared to his mom’s BMW, but Ms. Swan drives cautiously enough that by the time her car putters to the house, the car is toasty warm, and Henry is sad to leave.

 

“Your driveway is pretty long,” Ms. Swan sighs.

 

“You don’t have to come with me,” Henry says, and his teacher shakes her head.

 

Soaking wet now, even with the thirty seconds out of the vehicle, Ms. Swan rings the doorbell.

 

“I have a key, you know,” Henry says as the door opens.

 

“Henry!” his mom says. “Are you okay!” You’re dripping!”

 

“Missed the bus,” Henry murmured.

 

His mom seems to notice Ms. Swan now. “And you?” she asks haughtily. “Why are you here?”

 

“I drove him home,” answers Ms. Swan, and his mom’s face softens (too little for anyone else but him to notice, he thinks, but it does) instantly.

 

“Come in, both of you,” she says, opening the door wider.

 

“Me, too?” asks Ms. Swan.

 

“No,” his mom deadpans. “The car.”

  
  


Emma is surprised and appreciative of Regina letting her stay over for dinner. Henry tells her they’re having  _ arroz con pollo _ , and when Emma tries to repeat it back to him, questioningly, Henry only shakes his head and says, “Just say rice and chicken and save yourself the shame.”

 

It’s good. Spicier than Emma would have expected, but it’s  _ good _ , and she tells Regina so.

 

If Regina’s cheeks heat up, Emma doesn’t notice.

 

“Hey, Mom,” Henry says, “can you put fish food on the list?”

 

Regina looks at him, confused. “I just bought fish food just last week. Are you sure I need to get some more?”

 

“Well…” says Henry. “You know… I just fed Crosby today, and it was, you know, a little empty....”

 

“I may have accidentally dumped the fish food into the tank,” Emma finishes.

 

Regina’s too busy with her eyes narrowed to see Henry taken aback at Emma. “That’s because you’re an idiot,” she says, and Emma shrugs.

 

“People make mistakes,” the blonde says, and Henry knows that was directed at him more than Regina. “I can pay if you need.”

 

“Please,” scoffs Regina. “It’s fish food, not caviar.”

 

“Those are fish  _ eggs _ ,” Henry says, and both women give a huff of laughter.

 

After dinner (and dish washing, because that’s his job), Henry slides out to go practice the saxophone. It’s just Emma and Regina, and Emma is starting to feel uncomfortably warm.

 

“You sure you don’t want something to drink?” asks Regina.

 

“Nah,” Emma says. “I have to drive home.”

 

“It doesn’t have to be alcohol.”

 

Emma nurses a glass of water as Regina puts the food into tupperware containers and puts the serving dishware in the washer. She’s drying her hands with a towel when she sees Emma staring at her.

 

“You okay?” Regina asks her, and Emma is startled out of her reverie.

 

“Yeah, fine, just tired,” Emma sighs.

 

Regina’s lips purse. “And you’re going to drive in bad weather?”

 

“It’s not as bad,” Emma defends. “And I have to grade over eighty tests. I gave a free response today.”

 

“At least take some of the leftovers. I’ve seen what you eat for lunch. Nine times out of ten, it’s a Hot Pocket.”

 

Emma takes a small tupperware container. “I will gladly take this,” she says, “but, to be fair, should it really count as a Hot Pocket if it’s the one with the pretzel bread? Those are practically fancy.”

 

As Regina leads Emma out, both stand at the door, staring at each other.

 

“I didn’t make you feel awkward during dinner, did I?” Emma asks. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to be nice to me.”

 

“As angry as I am that you decided to magnet-lock by cabinet doors, it’s come in handy every once in a blue moon. I can keep my dry erase markers there.”

 

Emma is smiling before a cartoon record scratch is interrupts her thought process. “Wait,” she says. “You said you don’t have any dry erase markers.”

 

“Bye, Emma,” says Regina and she opens the door. Emma was right before, in where it’s not as rainy as it once was, only slightly sprinkling.

 

“You stole my markers!” Emma whines, and when Regina tries to playfully push her towards the door, Emma grabs onto her shirt sleeve, and Regina is suddenly only several inches from Emma. “Can I at least have my teal one back? Teal is my favorite color.”

 

“Teal is  _ my  _ favorite color,” Regina says, and she looks into Emma’s eyes.

 

“Really?” Emma asks.

 

“No,” says Regina. “It’s green.”

 

Regina can tell Emma’s smiling, again, but before she has a chance to look anywhere lower than her eyes, the loud screech of a saxophone is heard from upstairs, and both women jump. Emma even places her hand over her chest.

 

“Go home,” Regina whispers, and Emma nods, giving her a thumbs up as she walks out the door.

 

Less than an hour later, Henry wanders downstairs, probably for an evening snack, and sees his mother on her favorite loveseat in the living room, curled up into a book.

 

“Emma’s gone already?” Henry asks.

 

Regina gives a ‘mhmm’ as a response. “She had a lot of tests to grade.”

 

“Weird,” Henry says, opening the fridge and grabbing an orange. “Must’ve been her AP class then, because we had a lab today.”

 

Regina looks up from her book, the gears in her head turning.

  
  


Emma is grading papers a week after the dinner at Regina’s when there’s a knock on the door. She turns around to see Mary Margaret at the door, waving at her.

 

“Remember me?” the woman asks [ch]eerily. “We met at the grocery store several months ago.

 

“... We did,” is all Emma says.

 

“I promise I’m not here for you,” Mary Margaret admits. “I just saw you working and I wanted to ask how you’ve fared here. My husband, David, is the U.S. History teacher.”

 

“Oh, Nolan!” Emma recognizes him. He’s blond, and he smiles a lot, like his wife. “That’s pretty odd. You don’t see teacher couples these days.”

 

Mary Margaret shrugs. “It’s a small town. The combined salary is enough to live here. I’m sure we couldn’t get away with it elsewhere. But enough about me; again, how are you? I hear you’ve got something going on with Regina, by the way Henry talks when he’s at the library on the weekends I volunteer there.”

 

“Got something going on?” repeats Emma. “Jeez, you make it sound like we’re dating.”

 

Mary Margaret raises an eyebrow.

 

“We’re not dating,” Emma says.

 

“With the amount of pranks you pull on her?”

 

Emma thinks for a second before answering, “It’s fun.”

 

“That’s what the boy thinks when he pulls a girl’s pigtails,” Mary Margaret singsongs.

 

“Don’t use heteronormative ideals on me,” says Emma, and Mary Margaret rolls her eyes.

 

“Look, you don’t know me as well as you know my husband, but, it’s the rumor that’s going around. I’m just warning you.”

 

Emma scratches her head in thought, and when Mary Margaret says goodbye and heads out, continues to grade, doing her best to pretend nothing had happened.

 

Dating? Really? The thought had never even occurred to her that she  _ liked  _ Regina.

 

The next morning, Emma comes from a bathroom break into her third period class to see a cup of coffee sitting on it.

 

“Sweet,” she says, and takes a sip. It’s the order she knows Regina knows is her favorite.

 

Killian, one of her smart mouth students, says, “Your girlfriend came by to give that to you.

 

Emma rolls her eyes. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

 

“Oh, sorry,” Killian says, giving a devilish grin, “I meant Ms. Mills, then.”

 

And, well, shit.

 

**xii.**

 

October is a relatively uninteresting month in terms of who can be the most immature out of Emma and Regina.

 

Here are a list of things Emma learns about Regina through banter, one extremely entertaining pep assembly, and bribing Henry with the candies she has in her desk that would normally belong to a grandmother: She likes to knit. Her birthday February 1st. She loved riding horses as a teen, and still does (“Your mom was a horse girl!” Emma had laughed for what seemed like ten minutes, and Henry had stared at her, unamused). Regina can, in fact, use her facial muscles to fit Oreo cookies into her mouth. Regina’s mother was a total bitch and was mayor for fifteen years before dying of a heart attack almost three years ago.

 

Well, that one Emma learns from Mary Margaret, but, the point still stands.

 

Here are a list of things Regina learns about Emma through banter, one extremely entertaining pep assembly, and raising Henry to be a loving son that divulges any information Regina asks of him: Emma is left handed. Emma once hijacked a car and drove it into a river when she was a teenager. Emma can pop balloons from between her thighs. Emma bribes Henry with candy from a drawer in her desk to ask him information about her.

 

“Really, Henry? Bribery?” she asks, and he can only shrug.

 

When Emma finds a piece of paper on her desk with the words, “Stop bribing my son with Werther’s,” in scripted handwriting, she can only laugh and walk into Regina’s room to hand it back.

 

“You know, if you want some of my candy, you can just ask,” Emma tries to say confidently, before realizing how that sounded.

 

“I hope you’ve seen your mistake,” says Regina, and Emma shrugs, sucking her teeth unapologetically. “Come to my house next Saturday night.”

 

Emma gives her a wary look. “... Why?”

 

“Because you’re going to help me take down my Halloween decorations for trying to seduce my son to the dark side.”

 

Emma groans. 

 

Regina’s smile only gets wider. “I’ll have you know, I have a 4,000 square foot house, and I go all out.”

 

**xiii.**

Regina and Emma are sitting in Regina’s living room that Saturday night, and when Emma arrives to see no Halloween decorations up, only Thanksgiving ones, Regina rolls her eyes and says it was too long of a wait. So, Emma had splayed herself across Regina’s largest couch, and Regina let her, Emma’s legs across her lap.

 

“I’m glad we decided to make this a movie night, instead,” Emma says, as if there was a ‘we’ who had planned it. “It’s like I get to see a secret side of you. One that wears glasses. And leggings.”

 

“I wear glasses in the evening so my eyesight doesn’t wear out. And why wouldn’t I wear leggings? They’re comfortable. Just because I wear professional attire at work doesn’t mean that’s all I own,” Regina states. “And why are you wearing Christmas socks? It’s November.”

 

“Didn’t you get the memo?” Emma asks. “The beginning of November begins the two month process that’s Christmas.” She wiggles her toes, the jolly, cartoon Santa faces patterned socks moving with them.

 

“You’re ridiculous,” Regina says, mirth in her voice, and she rolls her eyes when Emma childishly sticks her tongue out. “I don’t want to see that.”

 

“Just pick a  _ movie _ ,” Emma says dramatically, raising her arms so they bend backwards over the arm of the couch.

 

Regina looks at her skeptically, remote in hand. “Are you double jointed?”

 

“I am. It’s pretty handy.” Emma winks.

 

Regina glances back at the choices of movies on Netflix. “I don’t know what to pick,” she admits.

 

“Star Wars,” Emma says immediately.

 

“They’re not on here,” Regina answers.

 

“What? How do you know if you haven’t tried?”

 

“I have a teenage son, Emma,” says Regina. “I would know if Star Wars was on Netflix.”

 

“Hmmm,” Emma thinks. “Rent, then.”

 

“Interesting choice,” Regina points out.

 

“I like musicals,” is Emma’s excuse.

 

By the time they get to “Take Me or Leave Me”, Emma is sitting up, Regina resting her head on the blonde’s shoulder.

 

“Idina Menzel is so beautiful,” Regina sighs, and Emma look at her in surprise. Feeling the movement, Regina looks up at her. “What? I have eyes.”

 

“Yeah,” says Emma, looking back at the screen. “I do, too.”

 

Regina looks at Emma, studying her jawline as it’s illuminated in the dark room by only the television and the lamp on the table beside the couch, her eyes narrowed. She realizes what’s she’s doing, though, and she stops, looking back at the movie.

 

“I like the concept of this song,” Regina comments. “Speaking your mind.”

 

“But they break up afterwards,” says Emma. 

 

“ _ But  _ they get together in the end. And that’s what matters.” Regina sits up, situating herself deeper into the couch. She leans her head, instead, on the back of the couch, looking at Emma. “And being honest is something that’s important in any dynamic.”

 

“Even when it could change something?” Emma asks. She turns to face Regina. “Even when it could change something for the  _ worse _ ?”

 

“Especially when it could change for the worse.”

 

Emma sighs, and faces away. “That’s ridiculous.”

 

“How?” Regina says, almost shouting, and she startles Emma enough to make her head whip around.

 

“Because life isn’t a rom com,” says Emma. “You don’t fall in hate before you fall in love. You don’t get to be close enough to someone to see the anger in their eyes turn into lust. It’s not realistic. It’s something a thirteen year old would write about Harry Potter.”

 

“You don’t watch movies because they’re realistic. You watch them because they’re an escape.”

 

“An escape for what? Two hours?” Emma props her elbow on the arm of the couch and sets her jaw on a closed fist. “That’s sad. You build up a fallacious reality only for it to be destroyed once the credits roll.”

 

“Fallacious?” Regina asks. “Look at you using big words.”

 

“Well, it’s only fair, considering I’m up against an English teacher all the time.” Emma grimaces, but there’s a foolish look in her eyes that says she’s not  _ really  _ upset, and Regina feels something low in her stomach.

 

“You’re stupid,” Regina murmurs uncharastically, and before she can stop herself.

 

“ _ I’m _ stupid?” Emma sits up from her slouched posture, shortening the already small distance between them. She points an accusing finger at Regina. “ _ You’re _ stupid! Your stupid dry erase markers, your stupid fish that  _ Henry  _ overfed, by the way, spilled the whole container of food into the tank, I was being nice and covering for him, your stupid pantsuits and your stupid hair and your stupid lips…”

 

Emma’s eyes widen when the words ‘lips’ come out of her own, and the last half of the word becomes shaky, like she didn’t realize it was said until it was out of her mouth and she didn’t have the ability to swallow up back up.

 

Regina smirks, lips tilting upward.

 

It’s Emma that kisses first, her accidental admittance fueling her courage, cupping Regina’s cheek and rubbing her thumb along the bone of it. Regina exhales through her nose, her head leaning further back into the couch as Emma pulls her closer.

 

Too soon, it seems, Emma stops, looking at Regina. “Henry,” she says, a question.

 

“A sleepover,” Regina answers, tugging at Emma’s shirt. The first button pops off, and Regina realizes it’s a pearl snap. Good.

 

“You planned this, didn’t you?” Emma accuses playfully. 

 

“You're the one,” Regina growls, accentuating her words with another opened button, “who chose  _ Rent _ .” She gets up momentarily, her hands never leaving Emma’s shirt, and she places her legs on either side of Emma’s own, straddling her.

 

“Holy shit,” Emma whispers, and as Regina rips open the rest of Emma’s shirt with ease, sliding it off, and Emma takes her hands and sliding them up Regina’s sweater.

 

Regina begins to attack Emma’s open neck with a mix of kisses and bites, and when she gets to Emma’s ear, she whispers in the most sultry voice she can manage (so,  _ very _ ), “In regards to our first meeting, I’m a C, in case you were wondering.”

 

Emma groans, half irritation, half lust, and hikes up Regina’s sweater. Regina gives a sharp intake of breath as cold air hits previously warm skin, biting Emma’s earlobe a little harder in surprise. 

 

“Lift your arms up,” Emma says, her voice laden with want, and Regina complies. Her sweater is thrown haphazardly behind the couch, and when she hears it hit the floor, Regina starts giving Emma’s bare sternum kisses. Emma stops her, lifting her chin up to kiss her fully on the lips, and Regina’s breath becomes short when Emma bites her bottom lip.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” Emma tells her.

 

“Wait until you see me naked.”

 

Emma’s internal monologue for the next two minutes consists of  _ oh boy, oh boy, naked Regina, oh boy _ , and Regina continues to kiss Emma’s sternum, giving her a hard bite near her collarbone. Emma moans, again, and Regina kisses her on the lips,  _ again _ .

 

She really enjoys kissing Regina. Especially when Regina is only wearing underwear, leggings, and a nude bra.

 

And when Emma cups Regina only to find her  _ extremely  _ warm and wet, she has to correct herself.

 

Only leggings and a nude bra.

 

“Take off your pants,” says Regina, unbuttoning her jeans and rolling off of Emma. “They’re small. I’m not doing it for you.”

 

Emma rolls her eyes and stands up as little as she can to shimmy her jeans off. As she kicks them off, she hears Regina snickering.

 

“What?” she asks, and she follows the line of sight from Regina’s eyes to her butt. Her butt covered in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle underwear. “Don’t make fun. I was almost out of laundry. Also, didn’t think I’d be getting any tonight.”

 

“I think his eyes follow me,” Regina says.

 

“At least I was  _ wearing  _ underwear,” retorts Emma, taking it off.

 

“Don’t mock me in my own home,” Regina says, and Emma gets back on the couch to crouch over her. Regina quickly snakes her arm up Emma’s back to undo her bra, and Emma hums. “I know you find it sexy.”

 

“I hate that you’re always right,” mumbles Emma, and Regina smirks, almost  _ preens _ , so Emma quickly takes the waistband of her leggings and pulls. Cold air hits Regina once again as she lifts her legs and she’s now only in a bra.

 

Emma mentally praises any and every deity she can think of when she realizes Regina’s bra is a front clasp. She undoes it quickly, and sees dark nipples hard in anticipation. She gives Regina kisses, her lips first, then her neck, her sternum, and then to the sides of her left breast, giving it a bite, Regina’s back arching in response. As Emma takes a nipple into her mouth, her fingers dance over Regina’s naval, slowly inching them to where she knows Regina wants them to be. Emma gives her other breast the same treatment as the last one and it’s like Regina just can’t  _ take _ it anymore.

 

“Emma,” she whispers. “Please.”

 

So Emma enters her, slowly, starting off with one finger, and can’t help but mutter, “Oh, God,” when she realizes how wet Regina is. Regina takes a sharp intake of breath, roaming her hands around Emmas curves and she fucks her but also  _ kisses  _ her.

 

A, “More, Emma,” is whispered, and Emma pauses kissing her to bite her neck and suddenly  _ three _ fingers are in Regina and Regina can feel something akin to fire build in her stomach, her toes starting to curl. Emma feels Regina’s warm walls clenching against her fingers and goes faster, deeper, until the bone of her palm is against Regina’s pubic bone. There’s a few seconds in which Regina is completely silent, back arched, her arms tightly wrapped around Emma’s neck and her head tucked in, and Emma can’t really see her, but she knows it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever witnessed.

 

“Emma,” she hears Regina say. “Come here.”

 

“I don’t know how I could get any closer,” Emma says, and she hears a small laugh at that.

 

“No,” Regina says, separating herself from Emma. “I mean  _ come here _ .” And Regina’s got her hands on Emma’s ass as she pulls forward, Emma following to keep from losing her balance.

 

Regina doesn’t even wait for Emma to situate herself before putting her mouth on her, and, holy shit, Regina’s  _ good  _ at this. Emma could probably count on one hand the amount of times she’s received good oral sex, and three seconds in Emma knows this one is going to be in first place.

 

Regina’s tongue is on Emma the second she’s close enough to do so, licking through her folds and lightly scraping past her clit. Emma’s hips buck at this, and she can’t help but tug at Regina’s hair (it’s soft, in case anyone was wondering) and pull her head forward.

 

Soon, too soon, almost, Regina has two fingers on her, and she’s sucking on Emma’s clit like she’s trying to pop it out, and Emma is throbbing in what seems to be everywhere on her body. Regina’s hands are steady on her hips, controlling Emma’s movements, and Emma’s secretly thankful because she’s sure she’d fall of the couch if she had the ability to.

 

After what seems like simultaneously forever and a few seconds later, Emma sees pinks and greens and blues dance across a black canvas of her vision, and her hands clamp to Regina hair and the couch. Regina doesn’t seem to mind, though, as she quickens her pace, and the blacks turn into white as Emma feels an orgasm coming over the bottom half of her lives waves on a shore that didn’t stand a chance.

 

When she’s done (done? It felt like it wouldn’t  _ end _ ), Emma lowers herself on top of Regina, their bodies naked and sweaty and pressed against each other. Emma tucks some of the hair plastered to Regina’s forehead behind her ear, and she sees an expression in her eye that maybe only an English teacher could come up with the words to describe, because biology sure can’t.

 

“I’m pretty sure I saw God in that orgasm you gave me,” Emma jokes.

 

Regina’s answer is a scoff, but Emma can hear the underlying shyness in it. She’s about to kiss Regina when Regina shakes her head.

 

“I can’t do this Emma,” Regina chokes out, like a frog had leapt from her throat. “I can’t do us.”

  
  


And Emma dresses, quickly, because she knows she’s going to start crying, she just doesn’t know when; she can only hope it’s after she walks out of the door.

 

**xiv.**

 

A week passes by, and Emma and Regina both avoid each other like the plague. Everyone seems to notice, especially Henry. He comes one day to Emma’s class, ten minutes before second period.

 

“Why are you here?” Emma asks. “You have class.”

 

“I left band early,” Henry says, almost as if he’s proud of the fact. “Also, I know you and my mom had sex.”

 

Emma chokes on the nothing she was eating or drinking and drops her pen in surprise. When Henry laughs, she sputters out a, “Please do not drop a bomb on me like that again.”

 

“I hate admitting it, honestly. I don’t want to think about you, or my mom, like that. But,” and Henry sighs, “my mom is listening to 90s Mariah Carey and Selena when she thinks I can’t hear her. And she  _ sings along _ . She’s also super mopey. She really likes you, Ms. Swan.”

 

“Then why can’t she come tell me that?” Emma pouts, drumming her pen.

 

“My mom doesn’t have a lot of friends,” admits Henry. “Other than Marian, the Spanish teacher, she doesn’t really have anyone else to talk to at work. Except you, now. She’s probably scared she’ll make you run away, or something.”  

 

Emma relents. “Fine,” she sighs. “But I wait until after the bell.”

 

Henry nods, and leaves, Emma assumes to go to the bathroom or the like. High schools are terrible with giving their kids enough bathroom breaks.

 

When the bell rings, she jumps out of her seat, hurrying to the closet and opening Regina’s side of the door. Regina whirls around at the noise, and stares at her curiously, students existing around her. And when Emma nods her head as a way of saying, “Come into the closet with me just for a moment, please,” she rolls her eyes and does so.

 

“Yes?” Regina asks.

 

Emma doesn’t really know what to say, except blurt out, “Henry knows what happened.”

 

“What?” Regina hisses. “Did you tell him?”

 

“Of course not. He came into my classroom and told me. I choked on air, thank you very much. I didn’t think that’s what he would say at all..” 

 

There’s an awkward moment of silence before Regina says, “Is that all you wanted to say?”

 

Emma sighs. “No. It’s not.”

 

Regina stares at her expectantly, and Emma blushes, doing her best to hide it. “We had sex, okay? It happened. Personally, I didn’t think it was too bad myself, but if you did, tell me, okay? I don’t think how silent we are. I liked it better when you hated me.”

 

Regina comes closer, and Emma can feel Regina’s eyes looking into her own, like she was trying to find something. “I never hated you,” she says.

 

Emma’s breathing pattern is like a broken record, off kilter and erratic. She can’t help but see a stray hair that’s plastered to Regina’s cheekbone, and it’s  _ annoying _ , annoying like Regina, honestly, but she promises herself not to touch it.

 

Except her hand is a filthy traitor and moves up regardless, tucking Regina’s stray hair behind her ear. Emma almost hears the air leave Regina’s chest, and when Emma tries taking her hand back, Regina’s own shoots out and clasps her wrist.

 

“Regina?” Emma asks.

 

“Shut up or I’ll make you.” Regina’s strained whisper shows her bark holds no bite, and she gives Emma no time for a retort before she’s kissing her.

 

Emma feels Regina’s warm palm cup her jawline, and she takes her hand out of Regina’s clutch (she barely moves it when the fingers loosen, she never really had a  _ clutch  _ in the first place) and threads it through black, black hair. Regina tastes like lipstick and artificial cherry flavor.

 

“Thought you didn’t want this,” Emma whispers.

 

“You’re an idiot if you thought I don’t want this,” Regina says, and she bites Emma’s bottom lip, and pushes Emma back into one of the many shelves. She hears something fall and shatter.

 

“Shit!” she curses, but it’s muffled. She knows it’s a flask-- a small one, by the sound of it. A breath is taken between them, but Emma manages to murmur a, “Regina,” and Regina moans, and it’s quite possibly the sexiest thing Emma has ever heard, and Emma has seen Catherine Zeta-Jones in Chicago.

 

Emma’s lips are feeling bruised in a good way and Regina’s untucked most of Emma’s plaid shirt when the tardy bell rings. It makes both of them spring apart. Emma’s about to race out the door when Regina stops her.

 

“You… um, have my lipstick on you,” says Regina, and when Emma brings up her sleeve to wipe furiously, Regina snatches Emma’s wrist and stops her.

 

“Do you want it to be worse?” she sighs, and licks her thumb. She brings it to the corner of Emma’s lip and removes her handiwork. She's glad she wore something more neutral today, and not a bright color like she sometimes will. Emma grins, and playfully places the tip of Regina’s thumb between her teeth, biting lightly. 

 

Regina rips away her thumb from Emma, her eyes becoming impossibly darker. “You stop that.”

 

Emma snickers and Regina rolls her eyes-- it wasn’t be the first time, it won’t be the last-- and shoves her towards the door and Emma quickly opens and shuts the door, entering her classroom.

 

Except she doesn’t.

 

Emma notices something is wrong, when, obviously, her students are not sitting at black group tables, but individual desks. Also, they look a lot older than the students she’s used to teaching.

 

_ She’s in Regina’s classroom _ .

 

She recognizes Belle French, a junior she sees around the halls, when she asks, “Miss Swan?”

 

And Emma panics. 

 

“Hey, guys.” She prays they can’t hear the apprehension in her voice. “Miss Mills is currently in a  _ very  _ important meeting right now, it came out of nowhere, and she asked me to cover her class for a few minutes until a sub comes.”

 

“Doesn’t she hate you?” a voice says, and if Emma knew who it had been, she would’ve glared at them.

 

“Whoever told you that is a liar and should not be trusted.” Emma leans on Regina’s desk. She looks around the classroom, taking a look at a blank whiteboard and no papers on the desk to hand out. “Now, what did she have planned for you today?”

 

There’s no room for the class to answer her question, as the storage room door bursts open and Regina rushes in, frazzled, and then embarrassed when she realizes her students see her exiting out of said storage room. (Well not frazzled or embarrassed by most standards, but Emma can tell that she is.)

 

An awkward silence ensues as the students stare at the two teachers, and Emma takes the hit and breaks it, false cheer in her voice. “Wow, Miss Mills, looks like that meeting was a lot quicker than you thought!”

 

Regina just stares at her.

 

Emma pats Regina’s shoulder stiffly. “You, um, have fun. With your English class. I have my own class to teach!”

 

And she leaves, through the storage closet,  _ again _ , like the sad and pathetic romantic comedy this is. She was sure that if Regina had been teaching their story in class, it’d be a recurring theme.

 

And also a metaphor, because, you know, coming out of the closet and whatnot. She sighs.

 

When both women start their lunch break, Regina walks into Emma’s classroom (using the front door, this time), while she’s filing no name papers, and greets her with a, “Why did you exit through the storage room? Do you want to make this  _ obvious _ ?”

 

“You entered through it,” Emma says back, and when Regina doesn’t have a comeback continues. “And ‘this’? We’re a ‘this’?”

 

Regina shortens the distance between them from a few feet to only a few inches. “Emma, I think we’ve been a ‘this’ since you tripped and spilled coffee on me.”

 

“It was your purse I tripped on,” Emma mumbles, and Regina laughs, not loudly, the quiet one that’s barely a breath, and kisses Emma like she did earlier in the morning. It’s sweeter this time, and short, because Emma barely has time to relish in it before whoops are heard in the hallway.

 

Emma and Regina turn around to see students on their way to lunch, high fiving. Henry is one of them.

 

“Don’t forget to give Crosby his lunch, too!” Henry says.

 

Emma walks to the open door, pointedly glares at the Henry and his friends, and shuts it.

 

And Regina kisses her again, and again, and again.

**Author's Note:**

> hope i made this Funny and Relatable enough for you guys. i was relatively nervous posting this not only because i'm not used to the length, but also because the last time i wrote smut, it was of a heterosexual anime couple, i was in middle school, and we were still calling it "lemons". so, i hope i did well considering i haven't touched this rating in a long time.
> 
> thank you for reading! :)


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